


ITEM 53: There's A Duck In The White House

by Huggle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, that I know of, this did not happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:09:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, there might be...</p>
<p>And this might be how it got there.  Or it might not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ITEM 53: There's A Duck In The White House

**Author's Note:**

> For FlutterbyCas who kindly prompted me to help with my writer's block. *hugs*

Jensen’s first thought is that the guy’s trying to get himself shot.

The last tour left the dining room maybe five minutes before, and he doesn’t know how the dude managed to stay behind, but that’s a question for later.

Right now, Jensen’s watching him on his knees in front of the fireplace, reaching inside, most of his upper half hidden. He doesn’t know what the guy’s doing, but odds are it’s nothing good.

He draws his side arm automatically, keeps one hand on his radio just in case, and sneaks up until he’s close enough to be heard without having to raise his voice.

“What are you up to?”

The guy makes what might have been a squeal – hard to tell since most of him is tucked half way inside the chamber – and then jerks. Jensen hears a solid thump, and winces by reflex.

He takes a step back as the guy eases himself back from the fireplace. They might keep it as clean as possible – this is The White House – but all the same it’s a fireplace. 

He can make out a pair of brilliant blue eyes among the grime, but also a steady trickle of blood running down the side of that face.

“Shit,” Jensen says, and then he sees what’s in the guy’s hand. “Shit?”

It’s a…ok, it’s a rubber duck.

“I can promise you this is totally what it looks like,” the guy says. “Not anything else. This isn’t a bomb, or a spy cam, or you know anything at all. Like that. I swear it.”

Jensen lets go of the radio. He lowers his gun, aware the guy hadn’t even noticed he’d been confronted by an armed security guard. “Right. So what totally does this look like?”

The guy gets up, unsteady, and despite himself Jensen grabs his arm to steady him. He can’t see exactly where the blood’s coming from, because the hair is mussed and covered in soot, but he’s definitely getting the guy someplace he can check it – and him – out.

“I was trying to hide this in the fireplace.” He says it likes it’s pretty damn obvious what he was trying to do. 

“Right. What you were trying to do was get yourself shot, my friend.”

“Uh, no,” the guy insists. “Look, my brother and I were trying to organise this scavenger hunt – for charity – and he thought it’d be cool for one of the items to be looking for to be a rubber duck in the White House so…”

Jensen shakes his head, silencing him. He holsters his gun, because something tells him the guy isn’t a terrorist and isn’t a psycho. He might be a little crazy, but in this world who isn’t.

“You’re lucky it was me who found you,” he says. He still has his hand on the guy’s arm. “Hendricks likes to think he’s Gerald Butler in ‘Olympus has fallen’. He’d probably have beat you up with your duck. What’s your name, anyway?”  
“Misha. Misha Collins.”

“Alright, Misha Collins. How about I take you to the rest room and get you cleaned up? And see how bad that cut is.”

Misha reaches up, as if he hadn’t noticed yet he’d done himself a harm, and winces a little at the smear of blood on his fingertips.

“This is why you shouldn’t sneak up on people,” he accuses, but Jensen can see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“This is why you shouldn’t be trying to hide rubber ducks in the grand dining room.”

They’re nearly to the door, and Jensen hopes he can get Misha out before anybody else comes in. He might not have an issue with what was kind of a weird idea, but was obviously just a nutty prank, but Hendricks is enough of a dick to call the service, and they officially have no sense of humour.

But then Misha digs his heels in. “Oh, no, wait.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Misha slips out of his grip, and before Jensen can protest he’s running back the way he came. 

“I didn’t sneak out of the tour, nearly bash my brains in, to….uh, there we go….”

Jensen watches, astonished, as Misha drops to his knees again and contorts himself back into the fireplace. He didn’t notice it the first time, what with finding some strange guy fooling around on his own in a peculiar position, but damn, the guy has a nice ass.

Ok, truth, he has a nice everything as far as Jensen can tell, and he’s curious as to what he’s going to find when he helps Misha clean off all that grime.

He shakes his head when Misha gets up and comes trotting proudly back, sans duck. “Ok, now we can go.”

“Please,” Jensen insists. “Because I do actually like my job and I don’t think orange jumpsuits are your thing.”

He steers Misha down a back corridor, because the next tour is due along, and towards one of the less used rest rooms where he knows there’s also a first aid cabinet.

“What the hell kind of scavenger hunt involves planting rubber ducks in the White House, anyway?” he asks, as he opens the door and guides Misha inside.

Misha grins. “The best kind.”


End file.
